


rose colored glasses / life in pink

by vvinterhavvk



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band), Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: College, Dreams, Friends With Benefits, M/M, dallon/gabe/william/ryan, new summary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 11:29:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12816558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvinterhavvk/pseuds/vvinterhavvk
Summary: Dallon is a mentally ill college student in a confusing relationship with his best friends.Life is weird.CAN NOW BE READ IN RUSSIAN: https://ficbook.net/readfic/6538159





	rose colored glasses / life in pink

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in just a few days. 
> 
> i have a few other WIPs that i was hoping to post soon, but i was in the bath one night and this just came to me. it was a bit like a brain worm, i just wrote and wrote until i couldn’t write anymore.
> 
> its kind of strange, and went in a direction i wasnt really expecting. the songs mentioned in the story will be in the end notes, along with a short playlist i made for the fic.
> 
> special thanks:
> 
> ellie and aidan, who will never read this
> 
> yuumi, holly, sarah, esmee, rachel, and cj
> 
> and kasey, the best girlfriend in the world. i love you.

I have this reoccurring dream.

It always starts the same way: I am walking through a thick wooded area, flashlight in one hand and a bouquet of roses in the other. The flashlight never has any use, no matter how many times I try it, never turning on. I will walk for a while, the clicking of my fiddling with the button of the flashlight in time with my footsteps, eventually breaking into a jog, then a run, and finally a sprint, unsure of what is chasing me, only distantly aware that something is.

I come to a brick wall so long and so tall that it reaches into the fog above, no end in sight. This is around the time that I realize the roses are covered in thorns that have started to wrap up and around my arm and chest, blood pooling out of me. I am powerless to do anything as I feel each individual thorn pierce my body and stretch around my torso and legs, eventually rooting me to the ground. My fingers continue to fumble on the switch of the flashlight, the clicking loud through my ears and the forest.

As my feet start to give into the dirt below me, the wall starts to fall, too, and the light clicks on, so astoundingly bright that I am grounded. I hear something yelling, behind me, and I feel the thorns digging into my skin and the wall coming down on me, dust and debris filling my lungs.

A bright, dazzling face appears above me and the debris and the roses that have sprouted around me. He is smiling, His teeth bright and white, rivaling the flashlight that is somewhere in the debris. He says something, soft and gentle, reaching down next to my head, picking a rose that has bloomed, red with my blood.

His eyes get squinty and beautiful, for one quick moment, and He is so stunning compared to the mess that has gathered around us, and He says, “ _Dallon_ ,” shoving the rose into my mouth and down my throat unceremoniously.

I wake up.

  
The face above me is not the one I see in my dreams, but it will do.

Gabe does have a handsome face, what with his tan skin and long jawline and devilish grin, but he isn’t Him.

I let him kiss me anyway, just to humor him.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey,” he sing songs, pulling away after a few moments. He returns to wherever it is that he came, so I take the opportunity to roll over into my side.

The little dorm room that Gabe and I share is as messy as it usually is, clothes littering the floor and beer cans haphazardly kicked underneath Gabe’s futon, along with used condoms and granola bar wrappers. Our mothers would faint if they walked into our sanctuary. William almost did, once, the first time Gabe brought him home, but that's neither here nor there. I think Gabe likes torturing the people he fucks, anyway. Bill, Ryan, and I are the only ones he manages to keep around.

I’m painfully hard, but I can’t find the energy to jack off. I could convince Gabe to blow me, maybe, but he’s already dressed and will be leaving for his eight am any time now. He’s got his jeans and hoodie on, and is hovering by our mini fridge with his coat hanging over his arm. Milk and one of those little cereal cartons dangle from the hand that isn’t holding the coat.

“That’s not eggs and bacon,” I say, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. Gabe eyes the tent in my boxers, obviously considering his options. “I think that milk is expired.”

Gabe makes a sour face, tearing his eyes away from me. “Eat it dry then.”

I stand and stretch, knowing that Gabe’s eyes will snap back to my figure. The word subtle isn’t in his dictionary. “Cierra la boca, atraparás moscas.” This makes Gabe tighten his jaw.

“Whatever,” Gabe snaps, “eat whatever’s in the fridge. I’m going to class. Lock the door before you leave.”

I hum in response, so he takes his leave.

I fall back into Gabe’s bed, my face in his pillow as I reach into my underwear. It smells a bit like Gabe’s aftershave and maybe a little like roses, an almost comforting scent that I loathe.

I come in a few minutes, a name on my tongue that I don’t know, just a face. My throat feels tight as my hand keeps pumping, even when I am too sensitive, milking my orgasm out of me. His face looms over my own in my mind and in my dreams, as beautiful as it has been since I was thirteen.

I hear Him say my name, soft like always. I am never sure if I love Him or if I hate Him.

Once I am sure that I am all out of orgasm, I briefly consider skipping class. But I manage to roll out of bed, and put clothes on, and eat the cereal that Gabe put out for me, and leave feeling only a little bit of pity directed towards myself.

I’m a horrible person, I think as I rip down the name tag that our RA puts on all the doors once a week, noticing that Gabe has already taken his down, a blank spot next to the Christmas tree that says DALLON WEEKES in curly and neat handwriting. A few dorms down our hall have managed to keep all of them through the semester. Maybe they think there’s a prize.

  
William says that I should consider seeing a psychiatrist.

“I have one.”

“Ryan doesn’t count. You don’t pay him.”

“That’s what makes him so great,” I shoot back, tired of this conversation. We aren’t talking about my dreams, I’d never tell anyone about them, friend or not, but William has taken great interest in my mental health within the last few weeks.

He claims that I have been acting funny, or strange, as he so delicately put it, citing everything from my grades to my music to our sex life.

“You’ve cried during sex three times, Dallon!”

I do a spit take. “Did Ryan tell you about that?”

William rolls his eyes and wipes up the coffee that I spit onto the table that we are sharing. “Well, Ross told me about the first time because he was worried about you, but Gabe let it slip too.”

I cross my arms are focus my gaze on a girl a few tables away, blissfully unaware of the complete mess that my life is. “I can’t trust anybody, not even my therapist.”

“Slash best friend, slash fuck buddy.” William doesn’t seem too concerned about how those three titles probably shouldn’t be connected together, considering he ticks two out of the three off himself. And then some.

My face flushes. I hate thinking about it. “Whatever. He shouldn’t be telling you those things.” After a beat, I quickly add, “both of them.”

I don’t know why I’ve been getting emotional during sex. It’s probably upwards of three, if I’m honest, but I got good at hiding it after Gabe realized what was happening. He wouldn’t stop apologizing, had held me too tight afterwards, even though I told him I didn’t want to think about it. He just made it worse, after that, looking after me like I might break, afterwards. At least Ryan didn’t treat me weird afterwards.

It’s started to snow since William and I first entered the coffee place, and the street lights are starting to flicker on.

William reaches across the table and holds my wrist, his long fingers wrapped firmly around it. I suck in a large breath, waiting for William to chew me out, accuse me of something, but he doesn’t. Bill just squints at me, a frown set deep in his handsome features. He isn’t Him, though.

I tug my hand away and hold it to my chest. William looks hurt. “Come on, Gabe is probably waiting up for us.”

  
The end of the world starts on Christmas Eve.

Ryan is kissing me, but I’m not in the mood. He’s drunk, or high, or something, and I’m sober. I let him mouth at my neck and leave bites, but do not move as he grinds against me to the rhythm of a song I don’t know. I’ve given up shoving at his shoulder, instead doing practice calculus problems in my head, thinking about how I could be studying right now. I’m not even horny.

Ryan does get off eventually, though, and drags himself away to go find more booze, or weed, or whatever.

I rub my face. I could use a drink.

I don’t know very many people at this party. There’s Pete-from-one-of-Ryan’s-classes passed out on the couch, and Josh-with-the-pink-hair-who-works-at-the-library is playing beer pong against guy-who-plays-ukulele-at-the-coffee-shop. I might even see Victoria-who-is-on-Gabe’s-Do-Not-Fuck-List in the corner, making out with Gabriel himself. William put her on the list, probably because Bill is afraid Gabe will fall madly in love with her for a few days.

Gabe always finds his way back to William, though.

The bar isn’t so much a bar as it is a table covered in drinks with a large, frizzy haired guy behind it. A jar on the table says PAY WHAT YOU MAY*. I pick up the jar and look at the smaller text underneath. *$5 A DRINK.

I set it down and glance at the guy warily. “Hey, man.”

“Hiya.” His voice is much higher than I was anticipating. “What’re you thinking?”

“Something that’ll get me drunk quickly, please.”

The guy takes my ten and starts mixing something into two red solo cups, the biggest cliche here, really, then hands them to me. “Drink your sorrows away, my man.”

I hold one up in a cheers motion, then knock it back, swallowing at least half of it already. It doesn’t taste great, but that’s what you get when you let the bartender choose your fate.

What I can only assume was once commonly used as a dining room is where the hub of the party is, music playing over the speakers and about a hundred people packed into the room, mostly just bare flesh and sweat despite the chill outside.

I enter the abyss.

  
The dream is different for the first time in six years.

I am on the ground surrounded by a sea of roses and thorns, a black sky and horizon that goes on forever overhead, but the blood red that surrounds me is crystal clear despite no source of light.

Music drifts through my entire body, piano coursing through my veins with a vigor so powerful it hurts. I tug at my skin, trying to let the music out into the world where it belongs, but it does not give, instead becoming louder and more painful, adding fuel to the fire.

I find myself standing and beginning to move through the inky night towards nothing in particular, feeling the music pulling me like my blood is made of magnets, the only thing able to take away the music from my system tugging me along.

Each step I take feels as though I am wading through tar, my feet sinking further and further into the ocean, waves of roses and thorns tugging at my legs. Still, I move, like a dying man through a desert towards a mirage.

A mirage in the form of a man at a piano.

Beautiful would not do Him justice. As I move closer the slower I become, tar pulling me further and further into the rose abyss, further away from Him. The music reaches a peak, His fingers just barely visible from where I am, jumping along the keys with a grace I have never seen on a musician. I inch closer, longing to be near Him and to free His music from my veins and my soul, reaching him in a few long strides, sinking deeper and deeper into the red sea surrounding us.

The piano is sleek and grand, the keys a stunning white ivory. Tar crawls up around me and the piano, flowers sprouting in its wake as it moves up our legs. He doesn’t stop playing until I am almost entirely covered in roses, as is His piano, just the keys remaining.

He is wearing a suit that fits Him perfectly, and His hair is long on the top, falling in His eyes as He focuses on the piano.

My mouth opens, wanting to yell Look at me! Look at me! but tar floods out, roses blooming in its wake.

The song ends, a haunting silence passes around us. He turns to me as I sink into the nothingness and takes one of the roses from my mouth, speaking words that are not my name for the first time in six years.

“ _Well, this was different, wasn’t it_?” He laughs, bright and warm, and starts to play another melody as my head goes under the ocean.

I wake up.

  
I roll over and immediately vomit, coughing up everything that was sitting inside my stomach. Gabe makes a noise from his bed, somewhere between disgusted and worried, rushing over to my aid with the trash can that we don’t use very often.

When I look into the bucket I half expect to see black ink or roses, but just find normal brown puke. Gabe pats my back when I throw up again.

Gabe doesn’t ask why I’m crying, so I don’t ask Gabe why he was watching me sleep. Some questions don’t need answers.

“Should I call Bill? Or Ryan?”

My mouth tastes like roses. I try to spit the taste into the basket. Gabe just frowns at me. That dream had become like a comfort blanket, something to return home to every night, even if it wasn’t pleasant. And now, it was different. And He was talking to me!

Gabe wouldn’t get it. Neither would William or Ryan.

“No, no.” I wipe my mouth against the back of my hand. Gabe goes to the fridge and pulls out a beer and hands it to me. Apparently we don’t keep water stocked. “Ryan lives across town and Bill needs his beauty sleep.”

Gabe sits back down next to me. “Who says I don’t?” I manage a laugh. Gabe leans over and presses his lips to the side of my head, breathing me in even though I probably smell of sweat and vomit and maybe roses. Softer, Gabe says, “you know they would come immediately if you needed them.”

I let Gabe place lingering kisses around my face. Pretend it’s someone else, however selfish that may be. Maybe Gabe is pretending I’m William.

“It’s not a big deal. Bad dream.” I move away from Gabe, facing him. “Did you bring me back here? I remember being at that party…”

“Ross said he was with you then he wasn’t, which was kind of fucking scary Dallon, because we found you passed out in the bathroom with some dude none of us know.”

I know what that means, but I don’t say anything about it. William, Gabe, and Ryan would rather I fuck one of them than strangers.

I rub my face. Everything is so complicated. “Ryan was high or something, I don’t know, and I just wanted to go get drunk and I guess I took it too far.” Gabe gives me a look, so I sigh and give in. “Thank you for getting me back here and for being an awesome friend and cleaning up my insides.”

Gabe kisses me, doesn’t even care that I’m sweaty and taste like someone just ate a bouquet of old flowers, then bumps our foreheads together. “William would skewer us if he came in here tomorrow and found Dallon-vomit all over our floor.”

I laugh into his mouth and let him kiss me again.

  
“Quite frankly Bilvy, I’m fucked.”

William does not look at all amused with Gabe, who is sitting next to me in the booth. Ryan is laughing next to William, finding Gabe’s quest for love endearing.

Gabe has been ranting for the past ten or so minutes about how he is completely and helplessly in love with Victoria Asher, despite her being on The List.

The List came to be the second semester of our freshman year, each one of us having our own that the others can add to, no questions asked. The Lists’ scientific name is the Do Not Fuck Under Any Circumstances List, coined by Gabe himself. The rules are simple: if we don’t like someone, we add them to each others’ lists and we can’t sleep with them. Under any circumstances. No questions asked.

Except, Gabe loves asking questions and loves pushing William’s buttons even more.

“Come on, Will-“

“No! Absolutely not! No questions asked!”

Gabe pouts, picking apart his salad but not eating any. I watch him anxiously, wondering if he’ll go behind our backs and sleep with her anyway. I glance at Ryan, who looks like he’s thinking the same thing, his eyes flicking between Gabe and William like a tennis match, even though no one is speaking anymore.

“You guys are completely ridiculous,” I say finally, making Gabe and William both look at me skeptically. Ryan hides a laugh behind a cough. “Bill put Victoria on Gabe’s List because they went to the same high school and she was valedictorian and he was salutatorian-“

“-She fucking cheated on the AP Physics exam-“

“Gabe, she probably knows you’re William’s friend and wants to fuck you over, too. Besides, she’s out of your league.”

Ryan reaches over and pats Gabe’s hand. “You’re not even playing the same sport, my friend.”

Gabe and William glance at each other, the air less tense now. I go back to my smoothie, pretending like I didn’t just save their relationship from disaster. Ryan is looking at me, but I avoid his gaze.

Gabe goes home with William after lunch, and Ryan asks if I want to go home with him, but I turn him down, telling him I still don’t feel well. He kisses me goodbye and reminds me to call my mother and wish her Merry Christmas from the three of them, then disappears into a taxi. The Chicago air tastes bitter and does not feel at all festive.

I watch the taxi go down the winter street and turn a corner, wondering when my life became so fucked up.

  
William’s apartment is decorated in Christmas lights and smells like peppermint tea. He’s put some cheesy holiday movie on, but none of us have been paying attention enough to really grasp the plot.

“Your sheer amount of Christmas spirit sickens me.”

“Your lack of it sickens me,” Will snaps back at Ryan, pointing an accusing spoon towards him. The lovely Mr and Mrs Beckett brought William an entire Christmas meal, enough to share with the entire building. William was happy to share with us, the only rule being that we had to stay for a while. Gabe and I had planned on retreating back to our dorm as soon as we had filled two tupperware containers to the brim, but William had already trapped Ryan with him, so our fate was decided.

“It doesn’t snow in Las Vegas, so they don’t celebrate Christmas.” Gabe’s head is in William’s lap. I don’t know what happened between those two between now and when we met for lunch, but something has shifted. Ryan and I are third and fourth wheeling for the first time in this arrangement.

Ryan rolls his eyes. “That’s not how it works and you know it.”

The more pressing dilemma, the one that is making it hard to eat what I’m sure is a very delicious meal, is that I am afraid to go to bed tonight. I worry that the dream will change again, or perhaps maybe it’ll go back to the way it was, which might just be worse. I’m in uncharted territory, no map to guide me, only bad things to come.

Gabe is the only one who seems to sense that my state has worsened, hovering around me whenever he gets the chance. It won’t be long until Gabe spills the beans to Ryan and Bill. Those three don’t know what the word secret means.

I don’t hold it against them. They worry. Of course they do. They have every right to worry about my wellbeing.

I shove a fork in my mouth, tasting nothing but roses. I start to feel sick again.

Ryan is saying something about how he hates how happy everyone becomes during the holidays, then goes on a tangent about the psychology behind seasonal depression, a topic I should probably pay attention to. William starts to argue with him, which might have something to do with Ryan being a psychology major and William studing law. Gabe and I are utterly useless whenever Ryan and Will start going off on each other, his business and my english and math majors not much use in a fight.

“I think I need to leave,” I say very suddenly, sitting up in the armchair. I haven’t spoken in a while, so my voice startles my three companions.

Gabe sits up, frowning at me. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No. I’m just going to go to bed.” Gabe looks skeptical, as do Ryan and Bill. I know that as soon as I walk through that door Gabe will be spilling all about how I had a nightmare so bad that I cried and vomited all over our floor. “Seriously!”

I take my leave, letting William walk me to the door. He is visibly upset with me, but not angry. I know William’s worried-about-Dallon face well. He has been wearing it a lot, recently.

“I’m worried about you, Dallon.” I shrug my coat on, and even though I try to shove my hands into my pockets, William snags them and holds them close to his face. I don’t humor him, tugging them away.

“I’m okay, Bill. I don’t feel well.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“No rest for the wicked.” I can practically see William’s heart break in two, his hands falling limply to his sides. I can hear Ryan and Gabe talking in the living room, but William and I are quiet. I consider telling William everything, knowing he would listen and would understand better than Gabe could.

I don’t. Instead, I exhale and press my lips to the side of William’s face, a silent goodbye and merry christmas and sorry for ruining your night.

He accepts it, anyhow, turning to capture my lips, then pushes me away. “Go get some sleep.”

The walk home is cold and lonely, no one out wandering the streets of Chicago on Christmas night. Even the dorm hall is vacant, a Christmas tree in the corner with the lights turned off. Someone, one of the few people remaining in the dorm, is playing Christmas music on a piano. I cannot find it in me to locate the room.

I collapse onto my bed when I manage to unlock our door, shutting it behind me loudly. I wonder if the person down the hall heard me come in.

The piano playing stops once I hit my bed, and I think for a moment that maybe they’re coming to check up on the weird tall kid who slammed his door and is by himself on Christmas.

I wait for the knock, but nothing comes. I fall asleep, thinking distantly about my mother. I never called her.

  
The piano is as grand as ever, desperate to get out of my skin, pulling more and more with every step I take through the roses. The smell is bitter and awful, filling my lungs and coursing through my systems like the music that is pumping in my veins.

It feels like I’m plugged into an amp, my entire body shaking to the rhythm of the piano, the same tune as the night before.

He is at His piano, dressed the same. The ink that crawls up my legs and the piano shows no sign of even touching Him, but He smells like roses, and His nose is bleeding, dripping onto the white keys and His pale hands. I watch as the almost black blood evaporated when it makes contact with His skin, but stains the keys red.

A high trill fills the air as He fiddles with the keys at the far right. Something starts to drop on my face as I sink faster. When I look up, there are no storm clouds, just inky nothingness, yet the dripping continues, until I am chest deep, my arms grasping at nothing.

My mouth opens in a silent scream, the tar starting to fall out like a waterfall, the roses coming soon after. He looks down at me, something like pity on His beautiful face.

He reaches down to me, touches the side of my face, pulling at my dark hair. Not painfully, but enough to feel it. His eyes pierce through mine, red like roses. “ _You’re so close, Dallon_.”

I wake up.

  
New Years means that there is another party to be dragged to. Gabe likes partying, something about meeting new people and booze. I had never gone to a real party before I met Gabe- growing up Mormon didn’t do much for my social life. But still, on the very first night of college, before we were really even friends, Gabe had whisked me off to some party or another.

He has a way of finding parties, even if he doesn’t know the host. Friend of a friend of a classmate, or even complete strangers.

I’m elected designated driver, Ryan’s apartment too far away from the frat house where the party is to walk like we usually would. The brick house is tall, reaching well into the snowy night sky before the roof appears. The yard is big but pretty much vacant, just home to three snow people in varying states. There’s a mostly destroyed one near the steps up to the house, just a few large piles of snow and a scarf that’s frozen solid. The two closest to the sidewalk are as crude as only frat boys could make snowmen look, one with breasts and a shitty dollar store wig and the other with a cigar where a mouth should be and a strap-on shoved half hazardly into the packed snow.

Music floods out the doors at the top of the steps, thankfully not of the Christmas variety.

Ryan says just as much aloud as we walk in, handing me his keys and shrugging off his jacket, stuffing his hat into the sleeve. William does his classic eye roll as he adds his coat to the pile on top of Ryan’s, then Gabe’s. I toss mine on last, checking twice that my wallet and the keys are in my sweatshirt pocket.

“Don’t get too drunk, please,” I manage to get out before the three of them go off in different directions.

Gabe is off to make William jealous. William will busy himself pretending he isn’t. Ryan will inevitably find weed. And here is Dallon, alone.

Somewhere else in this house, Whitney Houston sings about wanting to dance with someone who loves her. I wipe my eyes on my sleeve and venture further into the packed house.

  
_Hi Dallon, it’s mom._

_Although I bet you knew that already! These new machines are so fancy, dad and I can hardly keep up with them._

_Just calling to say that we hope your school year is still going well, and we wish you a very merry Christmas and a happy new year. Would it hurt you to call, though?_

_William emails your father once in awhile when he knows you haven’t called. He’s a very sweet boy, as are Ryan and Gabriel. You should really bring them home for a holiday sometime, instead of staying cooped up in your dorm room on Christmas, for pete’s sake._

_The world misses your shine, sweetie._

_We’ll get one of those boys to drag you back home for a weekend, someday. You can’t avoid us forever!_

_And I hope you’re still going to church every weekend, Dallon. Just because you’re ignoring your mother’s calls doesn’t mean you can slack in faith._

_Okay. I’ll let you go now._

_Bye bye. We love you. Call soon._

  
The bed is warm and doesn’t smell at all like roses or blood, but the taste lingers in my mouth. I am on my back, Gabe draped over me like a blanket and Ryan tucked underneath my armpit. William’s voice echoes through the little apartment from the bathroom, the shower running.

Light streams through the curtains across from the bed, casting a faint glow across our bodies, skin still a little slick. Gabe has two hickeys on the base of his spine, and my neck feels tender in a few areas. Ryan heaves a long breath when I set my hand in his curly hair, but he remains asleep.

I count the tiles in the ceiling, waiting for William to get back.

The bed dips only a little as he attempts to get in without waking up Gabe and Ryan, succeeding as he places himself against the shoulder that Ryan isn’t under, wrapping himself around Gabe. His hair is wet and tickles my face when he leans in to kiss me, but I suppress the laugh, trying to remind myself where I stand in this situation.

“There are forty-five ceiling tiles,” I whisper into his mouth.

“You’re so good at pillow talk,” William returns easily, pressing his lips to mine once more, Ryan’s cinnamon toothpaste replacing the rose taste in my mouth.

I feel alright for the first time in a long time.

  
I first had the dream when I was thirteen years old. It had never changed until recently, everything was always the same. The roses and the flashlight and the wall collapsing, even the man has always been constant. I’ve come to know His face well, I think, could pick it out of a lineup if I was asked.

Sometimes I think I see Him. Faces in crowds at the mall, or a substitute teacher when I was a freshman in high school. They’re never quite right- the eyes blue instead of brown, or a shaved blonde head instead of His floppy brown hair that I’ve become familiar with.

If I was a lovesick teenager I’d be doodling His name in the corner of my notebooks, or little drawings of the two of us holding hands on sticky notes to put around my bed.

But I don’t even know His name, and roses make me just sick, no love involved.

But still He comes, bringing his roses and His grand piano with him every night. Every time I wake up feels like another thorn to my heart.

  
“Dallon, as your therapist I’m contractually obligated to ask you what the fuck is up.”

I didn’t ask Ryan to come over, nor did I let him into my room, but I also didn’t bother getting up when Gabe left the door open.

(Someone is playing piano again, presumably the same person that I heard on Christmas. They’ve played only a few times since then, usually when the dorm is quiet and mostly empty. I don’t know how the person managed to get a piano in their dorm on the third floor, but it sounds vaguely out of tune, a little too flat. The musty air that the concrete walls create would probably do that to an instrument of that caliber. I have a ukulele that I haven’t touched in months. I can’t bear to think about how out of tune it may be, compared to the piano)

(And it’s still beautiful, despite being ungodly flat. It’s slow and not at all like the bounding that fills my dreams)

“Did William send you?” I question, unmoving from my position on Gabe’s bed. There are four cracks in our ceiling, and one water stain. There’s sharpie, in the corner above Gabe’s bed, that reads:

WITH TEARS IN MY EYES, I BEGGED YOU TO STAY. YOU SAID, “HEY MAN, I LOVE YOU, BUT NO FUCKING WAY.”

A lot of things have happened in this little room, long before me and Gabe ever even stepped foot in it. We’ve been here a year and a half. Next year, we’ll be living in an apartment with completely new history. Maybe Gabe and I won’t even be friends, our history left to this prison cell.

Ryan’s figure appears above me, the sound of the door shutting preceding him. The room gets quiet, the piano further away.

“No. William isn’t the only one who notices when there’s something going on in your brain.” Ryan pokes my forehead. “Gabe spends the most time with you, he’s cued in on some things too.”

Instead of responding to that I say, “I first kissed you in this room.”

Ryan looks baffled. “You did.”

“And we met Bill, here.” I sit up, leaning back against the wall where it meets the next one. Ryan sits down next to me, but does not get any closer. “His hair was so long. And God, he wore those ugly sweaters all the fucking time. He almost fainted when he saw our room.”

Ryan hums.

“Gabe told me he loved me in that bed,” I whisper into my knee, which I have pulled up to my face. I point towards my own bed, which hasn’t been slept in in a few days. “And you. And William.”

I move my cheek to rest against my knees, looking at Ryan. “I don’t think he remembers it. He was drunk.”

The futon in between our desks is where Ryan and William sat as we constructed the Do Not Fuck Under Any Circumstances Lists, me at my desk and Gabe here, at his bed. Our bathtub is where William and I got high for the first time, Ryan and Gabe laughing as we coughed and coughed and coughed.

A hand cards through my hair, pulling just a little. It sniff back the tears and close my eyes.

“I wish He was here.”

“Who? Gabe?” The hand in my hair stops moving. “I think he’s in class.”

I don’t bother correcting him. The piano stops playing.

  
_Dallon, its mom._

_Hope your exams were okay._

_William said your mood has gotten worse. Have you been taking your medication? And going to church?_

_Love you lots. Bye-bye._

  
I’m alone in the dorm today. William went into the city to visit his parents, taking Gabe with him. Ryan works night shifts on weekends at the campus bookstore, but he was here earlier. We had a good few hours together, and only after he departed did I let myself get emotional. I’ll have to tell William to let my mother know that I’m doing better.

I haven’t left my room for something besides class since New Year's, Gabe bringing me lunch and dinner every night. Or, if Gabe can’t make it, William or Ryan will come instead. I think they all have roles that they’re trying to fill. William is my worrying mother, Gabe is playing housekeeper, and, well. Ryan is good body heat.

Ryan is also good for getting me up and around at least a little, convincing me to shower and put a vinyl into the record player that has gone untouched for far too long. Édith Piaf’s voice is like a blanket over me, one onto the four that are already on Gabe’s bed, singing high and sweet about how beautiful life is through rose colored glasses.

“ _Quand il me prend dans ses bras, il me parle tout bas, je vois la vie en rose_.” The words feel like a punch to my gut. I roll over, humming along, burying myself further into the pile of covers that Gabe has made. _When he takes me in his arms, he whispers to me, I see life in pink._

My hair is wet and uncomfortable against Gabe’s pillow. He has sticky notes that line the wall next to his bed, little notes covered in notes about the state of the economy and how to run a business properly. None of it really makes sense to me. Still, though, the sight of Gabe’s familiar handwriting is soothing. My phone is plugged into the wall on the other side of the room, I could call him. I don’t, though, finding myself unable to get out of his bed. It’s a good substitute for the real thing. He’ll be off doing who knows what with William. I shouldn’t bother him.

Édith is singing about angels when there is a knock at the door.

If it was possible for me to freeze while not moving in the first place, I would. The music still plays and Édith still sings as I wait to see what happens.

Another knock. Then a few more, each more persistent than the last. I huff and move to get up, ready to punch the daylights out of the person who has gotten me out of bed.

“Stop, I’m coming,” I shout, pulling the covers off and placing my feet on the cold floor. The knocking stops. Give your heart and soul to me, and life will always be, la vie en rose.

I’m wearing just boxers and a sweatshirt of Ryan’s that says LVHS WILDCATS, my hair still wet from the shower. Each step I take towards the door feels like I am in my dream, wading through roses and tar, sinking further and further into the abyss the closer I get to the door.

The knocking starts back up when I take too long, apparently. I swing the door open angrily. “Listen, I don’t know what-”

He looks almost nothing like he does in my dreams. He’s shorter than I anticipated, about to my shoulders, and he’s wearing glasses and a sweater with big blue letters on it. In fact, the sweater looks like it’s older than either of us, the letters peeling off in a few places and a visible hole around the cuffs that he plays with absently. His hair is relatively the same, floppy and in his face. He looks nothing like how I know him, yet here he is. The man of my dreams.

He’s real.

“Gabe texted me to come check on you.” He shifts on his feet awkwardly. His voice is exactly the same, less soft and gentle and more apologetic or weary.

“Gabe…” How does Gabe know the man who has been in my dreams for six years? “How do you-”

“Oh, yeah, I guess you wouldn’t remember me.” He sticks out a hand. “I’m Brendon, me and you met at a party on Christmas Eve, but you were basically blacked out by the time we met, I think. Gabe found you and I in the bathroom and took you back here, but before you guys left I gave him my number for if… you ever needed anything, I guess.”

I stare at him at a loss for words. Many things come to my mind, but I am not sure which one to ask first. How are you here? Do you go here? Are you an angel? You have a name?

Brendon’s hand falls back to his side when I don’t shake it. His eyes, brown and not red like I know them, are moving around my person, searching for something. They light up, suddenly, a smile spreading across them and to his mouth, which widens in a grin. His teeth are white and straight like the ivory keys he plays. “Las Vegas High School! Did you go there?”

All I can do is shake my head no. He waits for me to elaborate, but I am unable to. Brendon doesn’t look too bothered by this, glancing behind me. “Est-ce que tu parles français?”

Blinking at him stupidly, I say, “Oui.” I want to shut shut the door in his face, return to Gabe’s bed, and never leave it.

“Tu devrais me laisser entrer.”

For some reason, I step aside and let him in.

  
It is somewhat daunting, to say the least, to see him here in my dorm room.

I am backed into the corner of Gabe’s bed, watching Brendon shift uncomfortably under my gaze. I can’t stop looking at him, watching all of his little movements, even as he sits still on Gabe’s desk chair. I have so many things I want to ask him. Does you play piano? Does you like roses? Why are you in my dreams every night?

“Gabe says that you’ve been really sick.”

“Do you talk to him very often?”

“No, he texted me for the first time tonight. He knows I live a few dorms down, and mentioned that you’d be alone tonight because he was in the city with his boyfriend or something.”

“They’re not together,” I snap.

Brendon doesn’t seem taken aback by this. He continues to play with the hole by his thumb. “And, uh, he said that the third guy who usually comes to take care of you left for work.”

I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’m fine.” My voice is muffled by my hand as I chew on my thumb absently.

Brendon glances around the room, which has been recently cleaned. Gabe came home one day last week, gushing about how depressed people need to be in clean and healthy environments, and quickly set to work. He cleaned the floor of wrappers of all kinds, even got underneath our beds to do so, and took out the trash twice. William dropped off two brand new laundry baskets, a large step up from the old one Gabe and I shared and rarely used, which now sit in the corner by the bathroom door. Gabe does laundry now, which is something I never thought I’d say.

Hell, even our window has been attacked by windex and our fridge has been cleaned out of any and all alcohol, now filled with tupperware containers of food that I haven’t eaten.

Ryan said that this was the first step to helping me feel better. William said that he was proud of me.

I didn’t even do anything. Gabe cleaned the whole room while he was in a frenzy. I just sat and watched. Maybe we should be worrying about Gabe instead. I’ve never seen him get like that.

Brendon hums. “I think he just wants you to have company. There’s nothing wrong with looking out for your friend. Or whatever you two are.”

I flush and bury my face further behind my knees. “I didn’t live in Las Vegas. Ryan did. This is his.”

Brendon doesn’t say anything about me wearing Ryan’s clothes, but I can tell he’s wondering if we’re dating. “We’re not together,” I add.

“I lived in Las Vegas, too.”

“Maybe you know him. Tall, kind of a genius, kind of a stoner?”

“There are lots of people like that in Vegas.” Brendon is slowly rolling the chair closer to me on the bed. “Where did you go to school?”

“Utah.”

“I used to live there.”

I don’t respond to that, just look at him as he gets closer. Every few minutes I wonder if maybe this is a really fucked up dream, and any time now he will reach forward and pull a rose out of nowhere, shoving it down my throat in one swift movement. But he doesn’t, and won’t, because I’ll have to accept this as real life at some point. Brendon stops almost directly in front of me, right next to the bed. I find the courage to speak, quiet and muffled. “What are you doing here?”

“Gabe asked me to-”

“I know that, but…” How do I say it without sounding crazy?

Brendon takes his glasses off and sets them on the bed next to me, rubbing his eyes. “I think Gabe thinks that I’m good for you, or something.”

What?

Brendon flushes, suddenly kind of nervous. He’s actively avoiding my gaze for the first time, staring at the blanket that is on top of all the others. It’s a quilt that my mother made years ago, various patches of bright colors that remind me of home. Brendon seems focused on a patch with a white background, a red rose in the middle, taking up most of the square.

I had never thought about it too much, but now I do.

Brendon clears his throat awkwardly. “Anyway. Are you a business major?”

I look at the sticky notes on the wall, then down to the pile of textbooks next to the bed. “Gabe is. I’m double majoring in english lit and mathematics.”

“Is it hard?”

“Not really,” I murmur, afraid to sound boastful. Gabe says that I’m a genius, that I could major in something a lot harder and more beneficial.

“Well, you’ve got loads on my music performance. Knowing how to play piano really well probably won’t get me very far.”

My stomach churns. Of course. “You’re the one that plays the piano.”

Brendon’s cheeks turn even pinker. His hand leaves the blanket and rubs against his leg, like he’s wiping away sweat. “I try to play only when I know people will be gone- like weekends or when there’s a football game.”

Or in my dreams I want to say. “I like hearing it. How’d you get a piano up here?”

“Teamwork and four older brothers.”

“Wow.”

We fall into silence. I wonder what my dream will be like tonight, with the man himself alive and real and just down the hall, with an out of tune, upright piano and glasses. I wonder if he even owns a suit. Here, he doesn’t look like the type.

“Brendon,” I say, just to feel the word on my tongue. A name to a face. A face that I’ve wanted in my life for years.

He looks up at me. “Dallon,” he returns, just like he always used to say in my dreams.

I smile for the first time in a while. Yes, here he is. I don’t even taste any roses in my mouth.

  
The dream changes, I come to find, when I eventually force myself to sleep.

I am standing in the dark wood again, no flashlight or bouquet in my hands. The trees stretch into the sky, no signs of their tops. I can even move around, the ground no longer attempting to pull me in with every step.

No sound. Just eery silence, even as I move. No crinkling of leaves underneath my feet or the shuffling of my clothes.

I spin around but do not leave the area I am in, staring up into the sky for answers and getting onto my hands and knees to dig through the ground. Still, no sound.

He - Brendon - appears very suddenly, startling me. This is the first time in my dream state where I am not underneath rubble or drowning in tar and roses. We simply stand there, staring at eachother.

It’s weird to see him now, in the dream, after having seen him in real life. His eyes are red, not the warm brown behind glasses, and his hair is neat and pushed back. He’s wearing black pants and a white button up shirt, a rose tucked into the pocket, and is noticeably barefoot.

Brendon speaks first. “ _Wow, about time_.”

I expect to wake up, then, but I don’t. We’ve never had a conversation. Usually if I try to open my mouth ink and roses flood out.

“How is this possible? How are you real?” The words are hard to get out. Something aches in my chest.

Brendon shrugs. “ _Beats me. It’s your head_.” Brendon sits down, a blanket suddenly underneath our feet. It’s my quilt, except every single patch is the white one with the rose in the middle. My eyes flick between Brendon and the quilt subconsciously.

“ _I don’t choose to have these dreams. I had never met you before today_.”

Again, Brendon shrugs. He leans back on his hands, looking up into the endless sky of trees. I look up too, wondering what I’ll see.

Nothing.

I continue, staring at my companion. “ _Only in my dreams could I make someone up like you._ ”

He snorts. “ _Good or bad_?”

“ _Good, I think. I’ve always thought you were fucking attractive_ -“

“ _Ah, your sexual awakening_.”

“- _I guess I had never thought that your personality would match_.”

I move over so I am standing over Brendon, blocking his view of the sky. His eyes, despite being the color of blood and evil and STOP signs, are warm and hide a smile, connect with mine. “ _I am your dream guy_.”

  
“He’s nice.”

Gabe seems floored by my statement. “Nice? _Nice_? He’s way more than nice, that guy is like the end all be all of good samaritans.”

I wrap my quilt around my body tighter.

Gabe is pacing around our dorm, William, Ryan, and I forced to listen to him ramble about how nice the guy down the hallway is. William is on the futon, drinking a bottle of water (we had an argument about this, earlier. William seems concerned that Gabe is suddenly trying to clean up our act, cleaning our room and clearing our fridge of alcohol. Someone is finally listening to me), and Ryan is on my bed, flipping through a calculus book with a bored expression on his face.

“I think we’re all aware that Brendon is nice, Gabriel.” William rubs his temples. “But it’s up to Dallon if he comes around here more anyway, he’s the one that spends the most time here.”

I toss a pillow at him. He dodges it, and it hits the wall and falls to the floor pitifully. Great.

Gabe flops down next to William. “I just don't want Dallon to be lonely, now.”

The shocker of the night, and there have been many revelations in the last few hours (such as: no more alcohol in the room, Brendon may be showing up more, Ryan having been asked out on a date by a coworker none of us no, and William being promoted from something none of use understand to something else one of us understand), is that Gabe and William are official. Like, dating.

My chest aches, as it had in my dream the night before. I wonder if Ryan is feeling okay about it.

I spare a glance at him. He’s studying a problem fervently. I breathe in and out five times, then focus my gaze on the patch clutched tightly in my hand. The rose feels almost cold beneath my fingers.

I’m not heartbroken, per se, you can’t be heartbroken over something you never had, but it stings a little.

William says something to Gabe in a hushed voice. It sounds like Don’t pester him, Gabe.

I loosen my grip on the rose and wipe my eyes on the back of my hand. This sucks, doesn’t it?

The room doesn’t feel like a safe haven anymore. It’s stuffy, too crowded. I stand up very abruptly, shrugging the piles of blankets off of me. Ryan actually startles, the book sliding off of his lap. “I need air,” I say quickly, going to the pile of clothes at the foot of my bed that have just been cleaned, pulling out a pair of jeans and slipping them on. I’m wearing a sweatshirt that says NORTHWESTERN LAW on it, but cannot find it in myself to care. I don’t hate William, or Gabe or Ryan, but all of a sudden it feels like too much. They’re staring at me like I’m a bomb that is ticking down from ten. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

I shut the door behind me, and the bomb detonates.

  
Brendon seems surprised to see me. He lets me in, anyway.

His dorm is a bit cluttered but is nothing compared to the mess that Gabe and I had for almost two years until recently. It’s mostly just covered in instruments, the beds elevated off the ground to make more room for them. Brendon’s piano is underneath one of them, presumably his bed, and there are three guitars, a bass, and a ukulele underneath his roommates’, all sitting in stands neatly. The roommate is notably absent.

“Patrick is another music major,” Brendon says awkwardly when I stare agape at the instruments. He shifts from foot to foot behind me. “He works at some venue in town. Just, like. Interning. Or something.”

I turn my head to glance at Brendon. He gives a sheepish laugh. “He doesn’t talk about it. I don’t think he likes it very much.”

I move further into the room, standing between the beds. It feels surreal, all of a sudden. There’s a blanket on the floor acting like a carpet, and I am barefoot, and the beds are tall. I laugh humorlessly, then look at Brendon, who is looking back at me warily.

He’s not dressed for bed like he was when I last saw him, this time wearing ripped jeans and a t-shirt. His glasses are absent from his face, but I spot them on top of the piano, next to piles of sheet music.

“Did I interrupt your school work?”

Brendon starts, not having expected me to speak. “I was just, uh.” He clears his throat, looking at the papers. “I have an arrangement due in two days that I’m having a hard time figuring out.”

I sit down at one of the desks. It is almost entirely absent of any defining features (music students working more at their instruments than desks, I suppose), except for four bottles of pills lined neatly on a shelf, a textbook titled MUSIC THEORY 103, and a picture frame absent of any pictures. The pill bottles have had the paper lining them scratched off, but pills still occupy them. The other desk is similar, just a few more music class books, a line of succulents (all with little papers taped on the desk in front of them, names written on the piece like ‘Winona’, and ‘Donnie’), and two large piles of blank sheet music filling the surface. I can’t tell which one is Brendon’s.

“You can keep working. I needed to get away from my friends for a little while.”

Brendon is skeptical, his facial expression shifts as he studies me. I give him a blank look. I’m good at those.

“...Do you want to talk about it?” He says after a while of staring.

“No. Play me your song, piano man.”

Brendon sits on the piano bench, which creaks a little with every movement, takes a deep breath, and starts to play.

If I make any noise or movement, Brendon doesn’t notice or care enough to mention it, because he’s playing the same one that filled the dreams with him at the piano.

It sounds the same, less in tune and not nearly as resounding as it would be with a grand, but it’s the exact same. I would recognize it anywhere.

Brendon is trying to play quietly, it’s the middle of the day, but so can tell he’s having a hard time not letting go. His fingers move up and down the keys with expertise, and his hair starts to fall in front of his eyes like it always did in my dream. Everything clicks into place.

It stops abruptly, but I can still hear the melody continuing in my head.

He waves a hand in front of my face. “Hello? Anyone in there?” He snaps his fingers together and I startle. “It’s a work in progress, dude.”

“Brendon,” I say slowly, worried my point won’t get across. “It’s _perfect_.”

  
_Sorry we missed your call, Dallon, maybe don’t call at three in the morning next time?_

_William had said that you were ill._

_Glad to hear that you’re starting to feel better._

_Remember that you can come home whenever you want. No one makes a better chicken noodle soup than a mom does!_

_And hey, you’re making new friends, too! Expanding your horizons! That’s what college is about sweetie; not staying in your dorm all the time with the same three guys. No matter how much you love them._

_…_

_Oh, that’s Jordan getting home. I should let you go now._

_…_

_I’m so sorry to hear that you’ve been sick, honey. I wish I could’ve been there._

_Make sure you’re taking your medication and going to church. You’ll be feeling better in no time._

_…_

_Okay, I’m really letting you go now._

_…_

_We love you, Dallon._

_…_

_And we miss you. All of us._

_…_

_Bye-bye._

  
The guy Ryan starts dating is called Jon. He works at the bookstore, is a senior finishing his economics degree, and tells us that once he finishes he wants to open his own store in the city. He also adds that he isn’t sure exactly what kind of store, whether it be a coffee shop or a music store or what have you, but assures us that that is his dream.

Ryan is absolutely smitten with him, which is a strange sight to see. Ryan usually isn’t absolutely anything. His eyes are practically shaped like hearts whenever Jon is around.

It’s also worth mentioning that Gabe and William have skipped the honeymoon stage, back to their usual bickering immediately. If you didn’t know any better, it might seem as if they don't even like each other at all, fighting over little things like the food in our fridge to my health and well-being.

(Bill thinks that he knows best because he’s older and lawyerly; Gabe thinks that he knows better because he’s my roommate and ultimate caretaker)

(Neither of them really know how to take care of me better than the other, but I let them kid themselves)

The Do Not Fuck Under Any Circumstances List has been tossed into a drawer for another day, for when Ryan and Jon break up or when Gabe and William eventually push each other too far. But I have a feeling that the list may end up forgotten, only to be pulled out at the end of the year when Gabe and I are kicked out of the dorm.

I suppose they’re still up in the air, but with the four of us no longer doing our thing, it isn’t just something that we’re thinking about.

I spend most of my free time with Brendon, and even meet his roommate a few times. He titles his piano piece Red Like Roses and doesn’t bother explaining why, so I don’t ask. He tells me the next day that he got an A on it, and decides that I must be a good luck charm. At least, that is his excuse to keep me around.

My dream remains the same. I wake up hard a few times, and I fall back into the swing of things.

  
February comes and goes, then March, and April, until finally, May.

Everything gets very quiet, all of us studying for our exams. Gabe spends ninety eight percent of the time in the library, the other two percent in William’s apartment helping his boyfriend study.

Ryan is always either working, hanging around at work with Jon, or at Jon’s apartment. Whether or not he is studying is a good question.

I haven’t even seen William in a few weeks, as he has been preparing for these exams since March. Gabe says that William’s driving himself crazy. It doesn’t surprise me at all.

When I’m not studying I’m with Brendon, who spends all of his time at his piano.

Even now, when I’m in my room doing trig problems, I can hear him playing, stopping and starting again once in awhile.

I’m trying to remember how to find sine when I hear Brendon’s fingers fumble, then the keys slam and stop. My phone clock says that it’s nearing three am. Which means that Brendon has been playing piano for about six hours.

I breathe in and out, then sit up, grabbing my backpack and the blanket off my bed.

There are new name tags on our door, which I quickly take down. Brendon and Patrick’s door is covered in them, and is also unlocked. I let myself in.

Brendon’s forehead is pressed to the keys. There’s a slight echo coming from the piano from where Brendon’s head sits. He doesn’t look up when I set my backpack down next to the door.

I wrap the quilt around him and sit down next to him on the bench. I run my hands through the short hair at the back of his head and pull up, forcing him to look at me. His eyes are heavily lidded, and he rubs his fingers tiredly. “Hey, you.”

“Hi,” I respond, letting go of his hair. His head drops, another resounding chord echoing between us when he connects with the keys.

Brendon sits up and rubs his temples, setting his elbows against the keys this time. “It’s not perfect yet.”

“You’ll break your fingers if you keep going,” I persist, taking his hands in mine. “You can help me with my work.”

He looks skeptical but I manage to get him into his bed, and I squeeze in next to him. I set a stack of cards in front of him. “Read me the definition and I’ll tell you the word.”

Brendon is on his stomach and I’m on my back, staring at the ceiling. There are plastic glow in the dark stars above the bed. It’s cute.

After only a few minutes, Brendon’s words start to slow down and blur together. I roll onto my side and watch his head bob up and down humorously. “Do you want to go to bed?”

Brendon doesn’t answer, just pushes the cards away. I take them and put them on the wood between the wall and the bed, then move to get down.

Something grabs my wrist, preventing me from moving down the ladder. Brendon’s eyes are closed, but his grip is still strong. “Stay.”

Giving in, I crawl back up the bed and get under the covers with Brendon, both of our heads resting on the pillow. Brendon’s breaths are even and I suspect he may already be asleep, so I pull the quilt over the both of us, watching his face very carefully.

It will be strange, going to sleep when the man in my dreams is right next to me.

  
No dreams come.

  
William has the last exam for the week, so the five of us wait outside the building, waiting. We cheer when he eventually floods out of the building with two hundred other students. He holds his hands up and jogs down the steps, jumping off the last two into Gabe’s waiting arms.

We walk to the nearest diner to celebrate another year behind us. Gabe, William, Brendon, and I discuss our plans to live together next year, while Jon and Ryan talk about buying an empty store space in the city and living above it.

Brendon is warm, next to me, his hand tightly in mine as he talks animatedly to Jon about his idea for a record store. And when I squeeze his hand, he stops and turns to look at me, pressing his lips to mine easily. He tastes nothing like rose, more of the root beer he’s drinking and kind of like vanilla, a taste I’ve become more familiar with with every passing day.

When he pulls away, he’s smiling, so warm and bright, that I have to kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> songs:
> 
> red like roses (piano) - https://youtu.be/mhEDhQIjOwc
> 
> la vie en rose - https://youtu.be/kFzViYkZAz4
> 
> playlist: 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/22a4if2xuhp42hx5hoeyvcucq/playlist/6auoUHr6VhIbOeMykksgL2?si=OxRZGmkARxeAH-pzS7yiNw
> 
> my tumblr: allahlav


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